


The Makings of a Lady

by Carameleggshell



Category: Little Nightmares (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, first fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 09:06:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12339654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carameleggshell/pseuds/Carameleggshell
Summary: A take on what happens after you reach The End.





	The Makings of a Lady

She dreamt. No-one could threaten her now, yet that would not stop the Ones She Used to Fear from flavouring her dreams. She had to remember--now she was alone. No horrors watching, waiting for her to take their bait. This time she caught them, hook, line, and sinker. And they weren't coming back for a long while now, if at all. The girl had power now. She could snap their lifelines like puppet strings. Puppets were all they were to her, after all.

But in her dreams they chased after her. Still so powerless, never once would she surpass their strength. Her dreams were fleeting recollections of what once was. Shadows encroached upon her in them, fears lining every corner. It was senseless, now, when she had become all but a shadow herself! Oh, how high she had flown! Those dreams, never would she call them 'nightmares,' made her recall the horrible things. How they had stolen her, what she may have been before. 

Even worse, they made her feel hungry. Yes, hunger, that was it! There was no other explanation to her visceral emptiness. With her heart drumming out a yet faster tattoo, the pit of her stomach curdling like sour milk. But after those dreams, nothing she ate could mollify her. Her stomach held no regards for what she ravished. It was all the same acids, in the end. She knew this. She had always that rotten acid, so cloying and repugnant on her tongue! The sour remnants of her past meals!

And yet here she was. The predator cowering at the mere thought of her prey. Pathetic, weak, disgusting. How had she managed to rise so far only to come plummeting back down? She was not supposed to be weak! Why was she becoming undone by the memory of --the arms the hands their knives the gaping Maw consuming her--

Agh! She had power now! Power! She was The Maw now, why would this eat her up?  
The girl was breathing harder, short, weak pants in time to her heart, which was pounding a fervent beat in her ears. She looked down to her knees, at the lurid yellows of her stained, antiquated windbreaker. There was little comfort to be had in the old coat. With halting breaths she opened her ears to faint roar of the ocean. And, with trepidation, she reached down into the right pocket of her frayed raincoat. There could be comfort stored inside.

An old Zippo, colour long since faded, was what the girl found ensconced in the rough fabric there. She let herself play with it, to trace over the engraved logo written into its side. She outlined the metal, her fingers rough against its steel. The girl calmed her breath, until it steadied to the predictable ins and outs. The steel was rimy in her palms. The girl fiddled with the frosted case and, flipping open the top, held it in her right palm. Her thumb rolled up against the flint wheel, until she saw a hint of light. Pitiful sparks flared with her attempt, blink and you’d miss them. Frowning, she tried again, with more force on the flint wheel. And again, her attempt was fruitless, bar the flaring embers. 

This flame, she supposed, had likely run out of fuel. Ironic, isn't it. The lighter that gave her warmth for so long had run out in the time where she might need it most. Burned and crashed, like the greatest of conflagrations. 

Embittered, she pocketed the igniter and turned turned her attention to the sea. The seas were, at the very least, a constant. You could hear the susurration of the waves from most any room in The Maw; if you focused your ears for it. In the higher rooms, it became part of the background that you would forget right up until you left the room itself. Or you wouldn't notice the change and feel only an unease that something was out of place. Whatever the case, up here the sussuration became a something of a comfort to her. It was something to count on, it would never fail to greet her. The waves were perennial. Never once had their call disappointed her. If anything, the girl would be the one unable to reach their great heights. Storms would only urge them higher, while she could not ascend any further than the top of The Maw. 

She had reached the pinnacle of her power there. Now she was someone depended on, someone with a set place. Even if sometimes, a set place could do nothing but chain you to it. It was her obligation, her responsibility. Though still a girl, her heart carried a burden, weighted down heavier than what she could carry. Expectations piled high upon her. And those expectations only became greater. She could only manage to perservere when they watched her with their many eyes.

Yes, she was at the top. But only the summit of what she could achieve. Now, she was following the set routine. One, two, three, four, five, Six. They always knew what she would become.

Her lone source of hope stemmed from the fact that soon, number seven would come along. And Seven would consume the tall, graceful, Lady; The Lady that the girl would become. And The Lady would laugh. Laugh and laugh. Chortle, snort, honk. Seven would free her. Seven would, their megalomania so potent that it would overpower all other sentiment. Seven wouldn't notice The Lady's laughter. Seven wouldn't deign to check her dresser. Seven would never see the faded yellow jacket tucked into the corner of her drawer. Seven would see an obstacle on their path to greatness. And The Lady would humour their fantasy of her until the end. Seven would be like she was, after all.

The girl, in the mean time, mustn't falter now. She had things to do, after all. Guests to cater to, meals to prepare. There was much work around The Maw. And she would finish her work. Again and again, she would complete the tasks laid out for her. Until she, The Lady-in-training, procured the title of The Lady herself.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm happy you've read this far!  
> Please tell me any criticisms you may have!  
> Like, if I wrote sax instead of six


End file.
